I'm Latigo Flint, the greatest quickdraw the world has ever known. I can draw, aim and fire a six-gun faster and straighter than anyone, living or dead. If I had been born 150 years earlier, I'd have been a living god in the American West - but I wasn't, and that's the dern, cursed luck that I have to live with.
Blogger.com has agreed to publish a running journal of my life. I reckon that was mighty kind of them, and I'm much obliged.

Friday, July 14, 2006

The Men of the Far Long Hills

Sometimes the Men of the Far Long Hills were pushed by the wealthy ranchers a bit too far. And such men could only be pushed so far.

For instance, the wealthy ranchers would often put up fences around what they decided was pasture land.

"Grrrrrrr!!!!" Would go the Men of the Far Long Hills. They'd hurl their hats to the ground and stomp the undergrowth for a while.

Then the Men of the Far Long Hills would saddle up and ride into town--twenty abreast and smelly.

"Attention you miserable fuckers!!!" They'd bellow down Main Street as shopkeepers blanched and drew the shades."We are the Men of the Far Long Hills and you've pushed us a bit too far."

"Is that so?" The wealthy ranchers would retort from hotel windows as hired guns streamed into the street.

"Yes, that's so." The self-appointed leader of the Men of the Far Long Hills would reply. "And your purchased pistoleros look like sissies to me."

Right about then is when several of the Men of the Far Long Hills would need to have a quiet, urgent conversation with their self-appointed leader."Um, actually Jed, those guys don't really look like sissies at all." They'd council. "As a matter of fact, they kinda look like brutal killers of men."

"Excuse me?!" Jed would exclaim, astonished by this dissension.

"Come on Jed, look at them: They are clearly men without past or future--their eyes are squinty and cruel. Their guns are tied down and their holsters are oiled. And that one just kicked a puppy."

And this was true; the one on the end with a cross draw rig, had just kicked a puppy.

"It's a bad idea Jed, to gunfight men who would kick puppies and grin."

"You're right, I agree." Jed agreed. "Okay, new plan."

He turned back to the ranchers.

"Attention you miserable fuckers. We are the Men of the Far Long Hills and we're gonna crap on all your fences. That is to say, any fence you put up, will be promptly crapped on by us. And there's nothing you can do about it, and good luck finding someone to clean it."

Jed looked to his men with a stout fist in the air and the sneer of one who has won."And now we ride!"

And ride they did--back out of town, toward the far long hills. They rode twenty abreast and triumphant, stopping only to crap on fences.

And I know you'll do them proud Helga Von Porno, those men of the far long hills.

The Men of the Far Long Hills lived by a certain creed, Macek, one that not everyone can understand.

Did I hurt your feelings the other day Old Hoss, when I called you old? I did, didn't I? I'm sorry.

That's more or less how it went Elaine, except with less wiping and more grunting. (The Men of the Far Long Hills rarely bothered to wipe.)

I'm not so sure about that Ari... there pretty much seem to be fences just about everywhere I look these days.

You are a titan of honor and gumption Mr. Winston, and I thank you for your passion.

Latigo Flint does not kick puppies The Heir. Latigo Flint would never dream of kicking a puppy. See, Latigo Flint lives by a certain coda, a creed if you will and there are some things you just don't do. (Latigo Flint did once beat a dolphin to death with a ball pein hammer and a decoy mackerel, but the circumstances surrounding that are complicated and don't count against the creed.)

Those who forget history Jali (especially the smelly parts) are doomed to repeat it. (Especially the smelly parts.)